 |
| Painting by Tatiana Podpora |
Under the sun,
a drifting noise that ends thunder
as we lie open to the waves;
the call of a thousand flowers
that came to take us away,
disguised as our brides and grooms;
and a handful of smiles,
seeding the soil that hungers.
The rhythm of today
and yesterday,
and the morrow
that will carry and leave us
wasted and content.
Above the sun,
there is not above the sun,
for the sun itself suffices.
